American Shero , livre ebook

First Edition Design Publishing - Courtney Long

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181 pages

English

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When it comes to relationships, there exist four states: you're either trying to get in one, out of one, maintain one, or get over one. Brooklynite, Zay Shero Harrison is stuck in the state of trying to get over one. Her three girlfriends hold down the other three. AMERICAN SHERO is next wave feminism, humor, politically incorrect, and an honest look at the current state of young love in America. SHERO is the face of what it looks like, feels like, and acts like, as well as the heroic stance one assumes when daring to undertake, or even avoid such relations. Highly imaginative, with ingenious "How To" self-help manuals built into its narrative, AMERICAN SHERO is one very fresh, original, edgy, cinematic, spiritual, and definitely unprecedented body of work.

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Thriller

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Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	01 novembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781622879090
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0420€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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American Shero
By
Courtney Long
American Shero
Copyright ©2015 Courtney Long
ISBN 978-1622-879-08-3 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-879-09-0 EBOOK
LCCN 2015940069
June 2015
Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means ─ electronic, mechanical, photo-copy, recording, or any other ─ except brief quotation in reviews, without the prior permission of the author or publisher.
Introduction
Hi. My name is Zayba Shero Raquel Harrison. Zay for short. But, yes, you heard right: Shero is part of my middle name. Not my fault. Black parents. You know how that goes. It is what it is. But anyway, by book’s end, I’ll be dead. I guess that’s a spoiler alert, but that’s not what’s important. The life that’s lived is. Ultimately, it’s about the journey. Although, I must say, it is a beautiful death, if I must say so myself. One for the ages. Everyone should experience such a beautiful passing. And, no, I’m not planning some type of stunning suicide. I won’t be taking my own life. So then how is it I know I’ll expire by the last couple of pages? Well, there’s a real simple answer which I’ll get to later. Just bear with me. I’ve already delivered one spoiler alert.
And in the meantime, due to this knowing death, I’m moved to make sure I leave some type of relevant legacy behind. In my own modest way, actually become some type of Shero before I go. You know. Live up to the name. Ever since much younger and watching Halle Berry as Storm, I really did want to be one. But it was also just a few years before that that I thought being a magician, professional pickpocket or stripper would be cool. But no matter what, I believe we all can be a (s)hero of some sort to someone. Why else would life be worth living. So let me find my purpose and be of some assistance to someone.
Today, I find so many of our young women are in need of contemporary, inspirational figures like the Harriet Tubmans, Susan B. Anthonys, Joan of Arcs, and Lady Godivas of past. Ask your average young woman who’s her current idol, and 9 out of 10 will name Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, or a Kardashian, (no disrespect to these women) or some other type of music, movie, or reality star. One bookworm will name Mother Teresa or Rosa Parks, but you get my drift.
Well, I don’t have much time, so let me get started. Let me recall this life and attempt to draw some relevance of having lived it. Something worth underscoring and highlighting as good examples of sheroism to emulate, aspire to, or, at worst, altogether avoid. But hopefully, there’ll be something inspirational, even if I can’t see it at present state. Even if I can’t see it at this present moment due to much of my life having been spent preoccupied with the love of my life. Specifically, me preoccupied with one of the four states of relationships one may find oneself within:
trying to get in one;
out of one;
maintain one;
or over one.
I was desperately dealing with the latter. I was like a kid on a swing with him. He’d do something to push me away, and I’d come right back to him. That is until…
Well, anyway, my three besties were holding down the other three stages. My best bestie, Cherise was constantly looking to get into one; Alyssa, out of one; and poor Lillian, maintain hers. So I’ll have to focus and see what the hell else was going on in my life. What was I accomplishing? What was I doing these all these years that may help someone today? There has to have been something. I believe each life, no matter how brief, contains something for someone to learn from.
Predictably, this is also a love story. What story isn’t? And who doesn’t love a good love story? And everyone should experience the type love I had. His name was Bully –nickname of course. His birth name is Bailey. So, yeah, a nickname was needed. Bully was my first. I lost my virginity to him. But nothing like when my girl, Cherise lost hers: just out of curiosity. Just taking advantage of a situation. Mine was for a more old-fashioned reason: love. So let’s proceed. Let’s get started.
1
Brooklyn, New York. Just another typical Spring day. Yellow sun, blue skies. Asthmatic birds chirping about. New York. It is what it is. All day the sun and clouds had been playing the parent and child game of peek-a-boo with us New Yorkers. But this was the day I met Bully. I was heel-toeing it home and heard him before I saw him. Racing up the street making all that damn noise; popping a wheelie half the length of the block, dropping it, turning and racing back up the wrong way. Where’s New York’s Finest when you need ‘em? Any other time, they’re whoop-whoop’n it up all over the place. And here’s a perfectly law breaking citizen for them to hem up against the wall and fondle. Here’s this idiot recklessly popping wheelies up a one-way street the wrong way. If po-po is not gonna be around to bust him, why couldn’t he at least bust his own ass? That would have been a hoot. He would have had to pick up his bike and ego, and continue on his merry.
I had just turned the corner of Lafayette and onto my block, Adelphi Street, nearing our nineteenth century brownstone that, although built like all the others, still managed to stand out, aesthetically speaking, due to dad having the front sandstone pressure washed once every four years, and our mahogany double front door with brass fixtures hand polished just about every other weekend.
So on this particular day, I’m heading home from school, Chapin, where I’m learning stuff to one day help me become a school counselor, then principal, then superintendent, then college president was the plan. (Not my plan, but my guidance councilor’s. She said I had that type quality. But, as I already mentioned, the grim reaper had other plans.) So, closing in on home, and practicing my mother’s strut –a walk that looks as if two water balloons are stuffed in the back pockets, and a style long studied but only recently mastered at fifteen years of age– I guess this strut had this guy spinning his bike around, I guess trying to make more of a nice introductory impression. Apparently my 5’7” frame, much of it made up of legs had finally nailed it.
The Kawasaki dirt bike hops the sidewalk and comes to a stop directly in front of my path. Umph, a dirt bike I thought. Practically a kid’s bike. Not a 750 or 1100 four cylinder motorcycle, a man’s bike, but more like a starter kit. A noise machine. More like a lawnmower on two wheels. I was only a few feet from being able to turn into the front yard of my house, but I kept walking. I didn’t want this fool to know where I lived. But he accelerated, caught up, cut me off, and cut off his engine. Now the plan was to stand there and rebuff yet another come-on. ( No, I’m not...married? Are you serious? Do I look marriage age? No, you can’t have my number. Blah, blah, blah. Use a big word, making them feel insecure, and send them on their way. Usually they’d find their own way out by then. Okay, bye. You have a good day too. )
So before he could speak, I shot him a, No.
Excuse me?
No. Whatever it is, whatever you want, I’m sorry, but no.
So my little skill performance didn’t break the ice?
No.
That indo, that front wheelie, didn’t impress you? Not everyone can do that.
So that usually does the trick with girls? A front wheelie, an indo, and they fall for you. Well, sorry.
Geeze, he exhaled like the last bit of air from a rubber balloon. You’re hardcore.
He tilted the bottom of his helmet to the top of his forehead and let it rest there. My stomach did a flip. Holy shit! Wasn’t expecting a cutie. I mean fine cutie. So I can’t get a name, number; a second chance?
Okay, so now I have to play it cool as I’m about to perform this 180 and kick the tires. Can’t let him see that I am impressed. Especially since I was just telling him to be on his way, but who knew the fool was this banging!?! Wait ‘til I tell Cherise what I bagged. The inferior bike had lowered my expectations. Thought maybe he needed the helmet! Not! Smooth brown skin containing deep brown eyes surrounded by long, curling eyelashes. Lashes longer than mine. A woman would kill for those eyelashes! Those lashes would look great on our daughter. I know I’m jumping the gun. I don’t even know his name, but that’s what we women do. I’m just saying. Him standing there looking like what’s discovered at the end of a rainbow. What to say, Zay? What to say? Witticism escaping me. Hijacked by this nigga’s beauty. Uh, what’s your name? And if ever I see you again, I’ll be sure to say hi.
Oh, the ol’ you give me your name and number trick.
I didn’t say number. Just name.
Come on, now; take a chance, make a new friend. I’ll give you my number and if ever you need some bike lessons, you can give me a call.
I laughed. Bike lessons?
Yeah, you saw how skilled I am.
I’ve seen those tricks before. And on a real motorcycle.
Oooo. You went there. Well, I can do the same on a seven-fifty, eleven-hundred. A real motorcycle, as you call it.
Well, no, thank you for the lesson.
Or I can take you for a ride.
Again, no, thank you on the ride.
Ahh, no thank you on the ride, but there is potential for other...excursions?
Did this nigga just use the word excursion ? Okay, I’m becoming the insecure one as I definitely become more and more impressed. Intrigued. I’m supposed to be the nerd disguised as cool and cutting edge. Let me find out he’s cut from the same cloth.
So what do they call you? He continued due to my brain freeze behind his use of excursion.
I recovered. They don’t. I call them, maybe.
He laughed. Cute. But I know there’s some attraction. I can feel it. So stop fronting. So. What, clearly enunciating each word. Do. Your. Parents. Call. You?
Their. Daugh-ter, I imitated.